


Simulacrum

by flootzavut



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Blanket Permission, Complicated Relationships, Dubious Morality, Episode Related, Episode: s02e25 Resolutions, Episode: s03e15 Coda, F/M, Holodecks/Holosuites, Invasion of Privacy, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Unresolved Tension, no happy ending, no seriously much angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:35:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26088787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flootzavut/pseuds/flootzavut
Summary: Kathryn finds out some of the many ways Chakotay has considered telling her something important.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 11
Kudos: 41





	Simulacrum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brevityis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevityis/gifts).



> I started writing this in December 🤦🏻🤣
> 
> I'll say upfront that despite having watched a lot of Trek, I'm still not entirely sure how holodeck simulations with somewhat self-determined characters work, and so I went "screw that" and made it work how it needed to to explore the things I wanted to write about. I'm not sorry. 😄
> 
> Also TW for decidedly not kosher holonovel etiquette from Janeway.
> 
> This is the first thing I've actually done New Writing on since like February so yay, but also my muse is an angsty biyatch and this is why we can't have nice things. For that I'm mildly sorry, but I mostly blame my muse.
> 
> Also FYI it touches on the potential for a sexual relationship, but I don't think it overreaches a T rating; that said, if you think I'm wrong please tell me because I'm really bad at judging.
> 
> Spoilers for 2.25, Resolutions, and 3.15, Coda.

* * *

_**Simulacrum** _

* * *

  
  
It's idle curiosity that finds it, although it's a mystery what makes her take it down to the holodeck.

A new holonovel is a treat she hadn't expected, but her response to finding an anonymous file of any description is not generally to _use_ it. Besides, it's marked incomplete; there's nothing as frustrating as a story cutting off halfway through, and it was last activated two days ago, so the author probably hasn't given up. It would make sense to let them finish it, and she should definitely at least work out who it belongs to.

Somehow, though, she can't seem to resist.

She knows whose it is the second it starts; no one else knows New Earth like she and Chakotay do. No one else would know just how the sunlight dappled the ground around the bathtub Chakotay built for her.

There's a sound behind her, and she turns to find him walking toward her, smile bright. This place suits him - sunshine and fresh air and hard work fit him like a glove.

He opens his mouth as if to say something, then abruptly flickers out, as if something about this setup made Chakotay stop writing mid-scene.

After a moment, the sun disappears and darkness falls. Now she's in the bath, and something is chittering nearby, distracting her. She recognises the scenario; the first primate they saw on the planet. She gets out, wrapping herself in a towel, and tries to talk to the creature. Chakotay appears, just as he did then, and once the primate leaves, he looks at her with the same expression she remembers - surprise, interest, attraction. She expects it to play out as she recalls it, but instead of excusing himself and leaving as quickly as possible, he keeps looking.

Kathryn shivers, and it's not from cold. Chakotay reaches out and touches her naked shoulder; his hand is large but so gentle, he touches her with- the only word that fits is 'reverence', and her breath catches.

"Kathryn," he says.

She swallows.

He slides his hand over her skin, up to cradle her jaw, strokes her lip win his thumb. "Kathryn."

"Chakotay." Her voice is a breathy whisper. Most of the time, she can ignore how much she wants him, but it was harder on New Earth, and if Chakotay had ever allowed her to see how mutual it was...

He tugs gently, and she doesn't even try to resist. His mouth is warm and soft, and all she wants is to take him back to the shelter and have him kiss her all over. He tilts his head to deepen it, pulls her closer with a hand at the small of her back, and she melts against him.

When they surface, and she manages to blink her eyes open, he's so close still, their noses are almost touching, and there's nothing hidden in how he's looking at her.

"Kathryn," he says softly, "I love you."

"I love you, too." She doesn't think it through or hesitate, it's instinctive and visceral, and she can't bring herself to regret it or even doubt it.

He kisses her again, still more deeply, and tugs at her towel, and they're going to make love right here on the grass, her body is singing with it, and-

She's in her ready room, fully dressed, nursing a cup of coffee. It's disorienting to say the least. The door chimes. "Come in."

It's Chakotay. He asks some question about the Kazon, a familiar, routine discussion like dozens they have, and she answers on autopilot, studying his face and trying to figure out what happened. If he wrote this, then why would he stop the story just when he was getting what he apparently wants?

When the answer occurs to her, she has to cut Chakotay off and turn away for a moment. He puts a hand on her shoulder. "Kathryn, what's wrong?"

She could easily laugh or scream, she's not sure which, so she keeps her mouth clenched shut. Of course he wouldn't write that. He respects her too much to make love to a hologram of her. Of course he couldn't go there, couldn't violate her by having sex with her image without her consent. Using her likeness to, well, whatever it is he's doing here, is one thing, he's not perfect, but he has too much integrity to cross that line.

It takes a moment for her to get hold of herself, then she lets him turn her toward him. He has worry written all over his face. "Kathryn?"

She smiles at his so-familiar concern. "I'm fine, Chakotay, I'm fine. What was it you were saying?"

He studies her intently. "You don't have to pretend for me, Kathryn."

"I know that."

"Whatever it is that's bothering you, I'm here."

She laughs softly. "I know that, too." She shakes her head. "Why are you so good to me?"

He shrugs and gives her a cheeky grin. "I'm your first officer. Got to get a good evaluation, or how will I ever get promoted?"

Her laugh this time is less inhibited. "After my job, now?"

"Always."

"I should've known."

His grin widens. "Of course."

She studies him more seriously. "I hope you realise how much your loyalty means to me," she says.

There's a beat where he just looks at her. "I'll do anything I can to make your burdens lighter. Anything. You know that, don't you?"

She nods. Her throat is suddenly tight. "No captain could hope for more, Chakotay. You-" She doesn't know how to continue. There's no way to put into words everything he means to her.

He touches her face, so gently. "Kathryn, I- it's not just because you're my captain." She holds her breath. She's not sure if she's willing him to say... _that..._ or willing him to back down. "Kathryn," he repeats at last, "I love you."

It comes out so simply, so artlessly. Kathryn stares up at him. It was different on New Earth; they didn't have anyone else. They had to rely on one another, their relationship was impossibly close. Here on the ship, there are choices, there are lines and boundaries.

"I love you," he says again, and leans down, pressing their foreheads together. "No matter what," he whispers, "please never doubt that."

Kathryn hardly dares breathe. He trails his fingers over her cheek, smiles (a little sadly), then finally draws away. Part of her wants to pull him close, to kiss him, to tell him she feels the same, but there's something holding her back. Maybe it's the novel, maybe her own inhibitions, she doesn't know, but she can't speak.

"You know where I am if you need me, Kathryn," he says.

She nods.

He reaches out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. It's intimate but so gentle, it couldn't be more natural. Then he turns on his heel and leaves, and Kathryn can only stare at the door as it closes behind him.

Why would he write this? Why would he contemplate such a damned unsatisfying end to this scenario? Why-

She's back on New Earth, complaining about her sore neck, realising too late that Chakotay won't be able to leave her in pain if he can help. He gathers up her hair, hands tender and careful as he strokes it into a smooth rope then drapes it over her shoulder. She closes her eyes, and this time she doesn't tense up, doesn't panic because Chakotay is touching her, just lets him work on the knotty muscles and tries not to moan too much. _God_. No one has touched her anything like this since they left the planet; not that she wants anyone else to, but could they - could they possibly let this happen again? Would it be too hard, maybe unfair on him, or even on them both?

Eventually, he rests his hands on her shoulders. "Better?"

She looks up at him. "Much."

They stare at each other for a moment. Kathryn wants to hook her hand into the collar of his shirt, pull him close and kiss him stupid.

Instead, she lets the scene play out, the same as it did all those lightyears ago, the sweet tension between them, the awkwardness of the conversation. She lets herself take his hands as they sit opposite one another at the table, interlacing their fingers the way she wouldn't allow herself at the time.

As Chakotay tells his story, she watches his face, studies him. He's - oh, he's beautiful in his vulnerability, never so beautiful to her as when he has the courage to reach over the walls she's built between them. She doesn't need to keep track of the words - she couldn't forget them if she tried - so she can concentrate on his expression instead, on all the things she missed before when she was too overwhelmed by what he was saying.

God, how did she ever doubt how he feels? Was she just exceptionally good at lying to herself? She's known for a long time that he's attracted to her, she isn't stupid, but the depth of warmth, of devotion, of love... It's humbling.

"Is that really an ancient legend?" she asks when he's done, wondering if his answer will be any different than how she remembers.

He smiles wryly. "No. But that made it easier to say."

She chuckles, and just as she remembers, it's a moment of perfect understanding between them, of mutual love and support, and she can't quite believe she managed to live this for real without climbing into his lap and kissing him breathless.

"Chakotay-" Her voice cracks. "Now I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything, Kathryn." His smile widens, though it's still a little lopsided.

Despite her best efforts, she suspects her own smile is extremely wobbly. She opens and closes her mouth a few times, then shakes her head. "I - I don't think I could do this without you," she admits.

"You don't have to," he says, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. "Kathryn, I swore to put your needs first, and I don't regret it." He squeezes her hands. "I am here. I'm not going anywhere. I love you."

She's more or less expecting it - his declaration seems to be the one constant in all these moments - and yet it slams into her like someone punched her in the throat. She leans down and rests her head on their clasped hands. "I don't deserve you," she whispers, so quietly, almost hoping he doesn't hear.

There's a gentle pressure on her hair, a kiss, so tender and light. "I love you, Kathryn. Nothing will change that."

For some minutes, she lets herself sink into this moment, the emotion of it, lets down the barriers she's spent so long constructing. Chakotay rubs his thumbs soothingly over her knuckles and a few silent tears escape onto their entangled fingers.

Then she stands, makes her way around the table and sinks into his lap. He catches her - of course he does - as if they've done this a thousand times, holding her steady and firm, and when she tilts her head up to find his lips, he meets her kiss with tenderness and heat.

Oh, for the chance to relive this moment for real. She wants to take his hands again, to lead him to bed, to feel his skin against hers, to explore and be explored. All she will get are kisses, that's obvious, and her body aches with the knowledge they won't get to consummate this here, that they might never be able to. It's so damned unfair she could scream.

She's not nearly done when the scenery around her shifts again, and she blinks confusedly, still lost in what it was like to kiss him over and over, like a dream she didn't want to wake from.

When she drags her mind to the present, she's in a boat, leaning companionably on Chakotay's shoulder; it's another familiar situation, and though she resents being pulled away from their kisses, she has fond memories of this night. It's Lake George, and the moon is bright, and they're celebrating how she cheated death. It's cosy nestled into his side, and they talk about everything and nothing. It's so relaxing, just like she remembers.

Eventually their quiet conversation winds its way round to the alien, to everything that happened - or didn't happen.

"I don't even know how much of it was real. I don't know why that frustrates me so much."

"I can tell you what I remember, if that helps?"

She stares at him for a second. _You're a hologram_ , she points out in her head, _you weren't there_. And this is not how she remembers their evening playing out.

But Chakotay wrote this, and evidently holo-Chakotay is accurate in all other respects, so maybe he knows enough to tell her. Maybe this is her chance to talk about the whole incident more without making their real life relationship impossibly difficult. Maybe it'll help her get her head on straight, help her figure this out, so she lets her mind drift back - lets herself recall it all.

"I remember..."

She slowly pieces her memories together; occasionally he fills something in or nods, but mostly he just listens, watching her closely, taking in every word. Then she bumps up against the image of him grieving over her. It's so sharp, still. She wants to know his reaction, and at the same time, the idea of knowing is terrifying.

"What? What happened?"

She swallows. It's all too real and vivid, still. "I died," she whispers at last. "I watched myself die. You tried so hard - I don't think I've ever seen CPR outside a simulation. And you told me not to die on you, but I did." She told Chakotay some of this eventually, even if there were things she couldn't voice. There's an odd sense of freedom in letting it all out here, though, where it's safer. It's easier, in a way. When it was real, she was scared to tell him everything, but now it's his expression that stops her - raw and sad and aching. He's just a hologram, but it's still painful to make him look like that.

When she doesn't continue, he leans closer and touches her face. "What? What aren't you telling me?"

She swallows again, licks her lips. "I died," she says again, voice breaking, "I died after you begged me not to, and you- you held me, and you cried."

There's a pause where she daren't even breathe, then he's reaching for her and tugging her into his arms. "Oh, Kathryn."

It breaks something in her, and she sobs against his shoulder and wishes this were real; he's so solid, so warm and familiar, he even smells right, and it hurts her in a deep and unexpected way that she knows it's all a lie. He strokes her hair and murmurs softly in her ear, and she lets out the accumulated tension of - oh, longer than she cares to admit.

"If you died on me," he says at last, "I- God, Kathryn, I don't know what I would do." He cups her head in his hand and presses a kiss to her hairline. "Please don't ever die on me." His voice cracks as he says it.

"I promise."

It's a foolish promise, and she's offering it to a hologram, but she can't help it. It feels so real.

"You're not allowed to die till you've lived a good, long, happy life, Kathryn. Promise me."

"I promise," she says again. "I promise, Chakotay."

"Okay. Good." He draws back enough to look at her properly; there are tears in his eyes too. He doesn't look as distraught as he did on that moon, and she's grateful. She hopes she never sees him look like that ever again.

"What should I do with my long and happy life?" It's a deflection, an attempt to go back to safer ground, but she doesn't think it through, and it's only when it tumbles out that she realises her mistake. This is far too personal, far too emotional still, but it's too late to take it back.

He smiles; the distress isn't gone, but it's muted, she can handle it. When he speaks, his voice is steady again. "Get married. Become an admiral. Have a tribe of kids and discover three new planets."

"That's a lot of ground to cover."

"I have faith in you, Kathryn."

"Are you there?"

This question pops out unbidden, and she might be as surprised by it as Chakotay seems. There's a beat of silence; the look in his eyes betrays that he's deciding how honest he should be.

"If you want me to be," he says softly.

"I do."

"What part do I play?" The question is quieter still, like he's afraid to ask but can't stop himself, either.

She bites her lip. _He's just a hologram. You don't have to pretend. You don't have to be strong_. But it feels so real. "What part would you like?" she asks at last.

His expression shows he's not fooled at all by her attempt to turn it back on him, but he smiles all the same. "Any part you'll let me have." He strokes her cheek with one knuckle, so gently. "Kathryn, I love you. You're my captain, my best friend, the most important person in my life. I'd give anything just to be near you."

His eyes are dark and intense on hers. She gulps.

"Chakotay," she whispers, but nothing else comes out.

After a moment, he smiles again, and tugs her back down against his shoulder, letting her off the hook. She could almost cry again; she wants to say it, she thinks she means it, and he's a damned hologram, but now when she's more sure than she's ever been, she just can't get it out. It's so- so _stupid_.

She rubs her cheek against the familiar fabric of his uniform, and he plays idly with her hair. Why is it so hard to let herself be happy, to reach out just for a moment and take hold of it? Why does even a simulacrum of joy scare her so? _What the hell is wrong with me?_

The scene doesn't change so fast this time, and she's grateful. She should leave, should call for a door, should let Chakotay keep his secrets - she's being terribly unfair. But the boat bobs gently, he's so warm and comforting, and she can't bring herself to end it. They stay there for an all too short eternity, and when the boat finally dissolves into new scenery, she has to bite her lip not to cry out in denial.

It takes her several moments to reorient, to register the warm water, the sunshine on her shoulders, to recognise the bath on New Earth again. Gentle hands tilt her head back, and Chakotay smiles down at her before starting to rub something sweet smelling into her wet hair.

For the first time, it's not based on a memory; if Chakotay had ever washed her hair, she'd definitely remember. She's starting to hate herself for all the chances she didn't take, for the moments she let slip by. There were reasons she never reached out for what she wanted, there are reasons still, but even if she hadn't let herself kiss him - oh, there were so many times she could have touched him or held him, and she didn't, not because of propriety, but because she was scared. So many opportunities to be a little kinder, a little warmer, not just to him but to herself as well. This is glorious. If only it _were_ a memory.

He's gentle and thorough, lightly massaging her scalp, combing his fingers through her hair, and there's nothing especially sexual about it, but it's deeply sensual. If it didn't feel so good, she'd be strongly tempted to grab him and pull till he was in the tub with her, clothes and all.

She relaxes into his touch, and is disappointed when he starts to rinse the shampoo out, though he takes such care that she still has time to savour it.

"It's good to see you relax," he says. "I was starting to think you didn't know how."

Kathryn opens one eye to glare at him. He grins. She splashes him with water, and he just grins harder.

"No respect for your captain," she scolds mildly.

"Too much affection for my captain," he corrects, eyes soft, and she has to close hers again because his expression is so much. She'd half-expected him to point out that she's not his captain anymore, not really, not down here, and instead he slays her with a look.

"You'll always be my captain, Kathryn. You'll always be the person I look to to know what to do, the person I trust with my life."

She bites her lip. It's not just the words, although they settle somewhere behind her breastbone, curling warm around her heart, but the simplicity with which he says them, as if it's obvious. The sun rises, water is wet, Chakotay will do whatever Janeway needs - whatever _Kathryn_ needs. She has a feeling he'd destroy himself for her, if she asked; it's simultaneously heady and utterly terrifying to think she has this kind of sway over anyone, but she knows his devotion is true. He's shown her a thousand times, in words and actions and looks and touches. She's humbled by its depth, and despite the necessities of her position, despite her misgivings, the temptation to let herself fall into the safely he represents is strong and sharp and almost overwhelming.

She has no idea how to respond except to allow him to finish rinsing her hair, to soak in the tenderness of his fingers on her scalp. He looks after the people he cares about, she's known that since she first read Starfleet's file on him, it's a fundamental part of who he is. Somehow the reality of it still takes her by surprise, still steals her breath and fills her with aching longing.

He finishes, wrings her hair out carefully but thoroughly, then touches her, his hand warm and careful on her back. He drops a kiss on the top of her head, and murmurs "I love you," quietly and casually, as if he's said it a thousand times before. She turns, but he's gone, heading back to the shelter without a backward glance.

It hurts. Part of it is irrational anger with Chakotay for not giving her the chance to say it back. Another part is wondering how cold and unfeeling he must think her, to imagine she would allow something so intimate as him washing her hair without - without it being more than that somehow. Part of it is simply that it pains her to be so close and yet feel that the final distance is impassible, no matter what she does. Here she is in his most intimate fantasies, and he feels further away than he ever has.

All of a sudden, she feels sick. She shouldn't be here, she's intruding on something private, she's disgusted by her own behaviour. How could she do this to anyone, let alone to Chakotay? She can't even confess and apologise without hurting him. _This is why you don't go opening files that don't belong to you, Kathryn_.

"Computer, end program."

Abruptly she's in a bare holodeck, surrounded by grey walls and the buzz of computers and engines, and hates herself for the profound sense of loss. It wasn't for her, it wasn't something she was meant to see. There's nothing she can do to make this right, not after trespassing so far into something so personal; all that's left is to mitigate the harm she's caused by putting the novel back where she found it and doing her best never to let Chakotay know she saw any of it. She'll never forget a second, but that's her own fault and maybe her punishment, to know too much and never be able to act on that knowledge.

She takes a deep breath, lets it out, takes another. The inhales are laboured, the exhales shaky. She has no idea how she can begin to manage this, but it's the only fair thing she can think to do. Denial of her own feelings and desires so she doesn't hurt Chakotay is her penance.

Maybe it's just as well she's had so much practice.

_~ fin ~_


End file.
